All them years I was a knocker, watchin' those cows wind their way through the maze, turnin', turnin', marchin' into the kill floor. But just at the last second, at the very last second, 'fore they get the bolt and drop, they get a look in their eyes, 'cause they know what's comin' and they're realizin' all the "don't wanna" in the world is not gonna change this, 'cause they're gonna.
Now I found him. Alls that's left to do is go over there and get him, tie him to a table, cut his freakin' balls off, and, over and over, stab him in the face with a screwdriver.
If by "baby," you mean the most powerful entity ever known, the singular force that could shift the balance of power, threaten all of creation, then, yeah, it's a baby.
I made a promise. That's what this is for. I'm gonna open those doors. I'm gonna make them see the light and fulfill my promise. Then I will be free. That's what I'm gonna do.
I think they should be more scared. An inferno at your back consuming every man, woman, and child in its path. And you're what? Smiling? They should be terrified. The world's ending. Otherwise, who gives a shit?
Yeah. You know, toward the end there, William Travis wrote a letter, one of them cold nights of his up behind the garrison walls. When I was a boy, I kept a copy folded under my pillow. "I have answered the demand with a cannon shot. I shall never surrender or retreat." "Victory or death." Exactly right. Yeah. I'll be back.
You son of a bitch. Throw someone out on their ass, just 'cause they don't live up to your uptight, redneck Christian standards. Your daddy would by proud.
Don't you talk about him! What do you know about standards? O'Hare? Frozen vegetables? Vanilla hash browns? Gimme a break. What are you even doing here?